


That Lonesome Song

by saddle_tramp



Series: Journey's End [2]
Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-16
Updated: 2011-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddle_tramp/pseuds/saddle_tramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pairing:  None, but heading towards future Logan/Remy<br/>Rating: PG-13 for language<br/>Spoilers:  None, I'm sure.</p><p>Summary:  Songfic for the Sticks N Strings challenge, prompted by 'That Lonesome Song' by Jamey Johnson.  I got the song and immediately started writing, but the fic turned out to be more about ending someone's lonesome streak than about living with it.  This sort of fits into the 'verse with the other Logan/Remy fics I've written, but it's very much a stand alone and you don't have to read them to get it.</p><p>Warnings:  My knowledge of X-Men canon is so full of holes you could read a comic book through it. My version of them comes mostly from the cartoons, but I have seen the movies and read some of the comics.  I use what I like and pitch the rest, which seems to be pretty much what the Marvel folks do anyway. lol</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Lonesome Song

 

Logan tipped up his thermos, hoping for one last swallow of coffee, but all he got was a few drops. "Dammit," he growled softly to himself, closing the lid and then tossing the empty thermos down in the passenger floorboard. "And there ain't a Petro for miles," he grumbled, scowling.

The truck rounded a curve and he stepped on the brakes, stopping ten feet from the biggest beaver he'd seen in years. The beaver sat up on its hind legs and looked at Logan’s Chevy pickup for a moment, and then it continued on slowly across the chert rock road like it owned the damned thing. Logan gunned the engine, his other foot steady on the brake because he didn't want to kill the beaver, just spook it a little, but the beaver ignored him.

Logan took his foot off the gas again to wait for the beaver to go, but he quickly realized it might be a while. The beaver was ambling along like it didn't have a care in the world, and wasn't even half way across the road yet.

After a minute or so he snorted and leaned to open the glove box, digging through the paperwork and manuals inside while he waited for the over-fed water rat to get out of the way. He didn't find the cigars he was looking for, and after a few moments he slammed the glove box shut again. He bent to feel around in the floor for the cigar box he kept under the seat, finding it fairly easily even with the junk that always ended up under the seat. He pulled it out, a bit surprised it was so heavy because he was pretty sure he'd been almost out the last time, and then he opened it. "Dammit to hell!"

His cigars were gone, replaced by a few dozen packages of Blackjack gum and a little note. ' _Cigars are bad for you, Logan. Have some gum_.'

Logan jammed the box back under the seat and then glared at the road, where the beaver was more than halfway across, finally. He jerked the wheel towards the side of the road behind the beaver and gunned the truck forward, swerving around the beaver and throwing gravel as he headed on down the road towards the juvenile detention center a local cop had given him directions to.

He had no doubt at _all_ who had stolen his cigars. Ororro had been after him for over a year to stop smoking before he got lung cancer, as if he couldn't heal damn near anything. The gum was just her tweaking his tail. She knew he hated the stuff.

The truck rounded a curve and emerged from the trees he'd been driving through, and Logan slowed down as he spotted the detention center's sign, muttering, "Finally!" He turned the truck onto the concrete driveway when he reached it, driving slowly towards the low stone buildings well back off the road.

There was a motley group of teenaged boys working in a big vegetable garden on one side of the driveway, and Logan scanned the field for a familiar lanky figure. He had just about decided Remy wasn't out there when the kid stood up from between two rows of tomato plants, his hair flaming redder than usual in the sunshine as he shaded his eyes to look at Logan's truck. Remy's ever-present sunglasses were gone, and Logan growled a bit to himself when he saw an ugly bruise on the kid's cheek.

One of the other kids shoved Remy then, obviously telling him to get back to work, and the look Remy gave the overfed redneck would have killed him if any look could.

Logan stepped on the gas, speeding up to drive the rest of the way to the main building a lot faster than was polite. He stepped on the brakes when he got to the graveled parking area, twisting the wheel and sliding into a parking spot neatly, his wheels lightly bumping the curb as the truck stopped. He was out a moment later and headed in to talk to whoever was in charge, scowling and ready to give them hell.

Remy could be a pain in the ass, but the kid didn't deserve to get hit for it, and he sure as hell didn't need some no-neck asshole set to watching him to make him pull his share. Remy acted lazy sometimes, sure, but Logan knew it was just an act. He hadn't ever had to wonder if anything he asked Remy to do would get done. The kid's sense of honor was lacking on some things, but it wouldn't let him do less than his best when someone gave him a job to do.

 

~*~

 

Remy glared at the 'boss' of their detail, Joe-Don, and said icily, "Be glad dat Remy don' wan' to get in no more trouble dan he is." He turned his back on the other teenager, stalking away several strides before he knelt to go back to pulling weeds.

If Logan was there, it wouldn't be long before he was out of this place. The professor had ways of cutting through red tape like it wasn't even there, Remy knew, and it wasn't like he'd broken any laws. He just had the bad luck to lose his sunglasses while he was asleep in the semi he had hitched a ride in, and the driver kicked him out. He'd been trying to hitch a ride before it got dark when a state trooper picked him up and hauled him in to run his prints. When his picture came back with a note that he was a runaway, it was all over but the screaming. Literally, as it happened. He had gotten nervous and mouthy enough that one of the cops slapped him, knocking off his glasses so everyone saw his eyes.

"Yeah, you better get back to work, freak," Joe-Don blustered after a moment, scowling even though he didn't make any move towards Remy. The look in the kid's weird eyes had kind of freaked him out, but he tried hard not to show it as he went back to work, easing a little further away. The kid was so skinny he looked like he'd blow away in a good wind, but there was no telling what he could do to Joe-Don if he got pissed, so Joe-Don wasn't going to push him _too_ far.

Remy shot Joe-Don another glare and then looked down at his hands, jerking seedlings up one at a time and being careful not to charge them even a little despite the urge to blow something up. He was a freak, so he got thrown in jail with the county's future convicts instead of spending a couple of nights in the county foster home. He hadn't done anything to warrant throwing him in jail, but the cops had declared him a flight risk anyway and there he was on the teenaged version of the county work farm, pulling weeds.

It could have been worse, though, and Remy knew it, so he was trying not to make too many waves. He'd gotten himself slapped when he made that smart-assed remark and refused to give up his sunglasses, but since then he had been keeping his head down and doing as he was told. He hadn't expected a uniformed cop to _hit_ him just for mouthing off, and he didn't want to know what they might do if he did anything worse. He hadn't enjoyed it, but a few days working in the Alabama sun hadn't done anything worse than give him a sunburn and bleach his hair a bit lighter red.

Of course, he couldn't remember ever being so glad to see a beat-up Chevrolet pickup. He was so glad to see the driver’s mutton-chop whiskers that he might have wanted to kiss him if he didn't have a pretty good idea it'd get him gutted. Logan just wasn't the kind of guy you could take liberties with and not regret it in a hurry.

 

~*~

 

"Let me get this perfectly straight," Logan said slowly, eyes narrow as he stared at the man behind the desk, having already forgotten the fat little bureaucrat's name. "The kid was hitching, so you people arrested him and locked him up?"

"Well, of course," the warden blustered, wiping sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. "The trooper who picked him up was afraid he'd be hurt or even killed doin' that kind of thing."

"And his eyes didn't have anything to do with it," Logan said flatly.

The warden shook his head rapidly. "They didn't even know he was a fre—a mutant until after they got his prints back."

"Was it the trooper or someone here that hit him?"

"No one hit him!" the warden protested, wiping at his sweaty face nervously. "He—he stumbled and fell. He seems awfully clumsy, and—"

"And bullshit," Logan growled. He would have been able to see the guy was lying even if the room hadn't stunk of it. "The kid didn't _stumble_ and he didn't walk into a goddamned door, either. I saw him out there on my way in, and that's a _handprint_ on his face, mister. You wanna try again?"

"It was before he got here," the warden said, nervous but trying to be firm about it. " _He_ told me that he fell."

Logan snorted and rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ he did. I bet the troopers were standing there when he said it, too."

The warden flushed. "If you're trying to insinuate—"

"I'm not insinuating anything." Logan pointed at the paperwork on the desk in front of the warden. "Just sign him into my custody and we'll get out of here."

The warden moved quickly to do as he was told, shooting Logan a wary glance. "And you're a social worker in New York?"

"Somethin' like that," Logan said, nodding. "It's all in the fax Professor Xavier sent you. He has official guardianship of the kid, but he couldn't leave his students to drive down here to pick him up. I work for the professor, sort of an assistant. I do the stuff he hasn't got time for, like retrievin' stray kids."

The warden signed the form and then offered it to Logan. "You say that like they run off a lot."

Logan took the paper, scanning it to be sure it was filled out right. "Often enough. It's a special school for kids that need a second chance."

"For fre—Mutants?" the warden asked, a dawning look of comprehension in his eyes.

"For kids that need a second chance," Logan repeated quellingly, looking at the warden again. "But, as it happens, most of them are mutants." He smiled, more a baring of teeth than anything else, and leaned across the warden's desk to take a cigar out of the ornate wooden box there. The warden shied back, obviously scared of him, and Logan smirked a bit as he casually flicked out one of his claws to slice the end off of the cigar, letting the trimmings fall on the warden's desk. "Like me."

The warden jumped up out of his chair and headed towards the door that led outside, skirting widely around Logan. "I think we're done here." He hurried out of the door, yelling, "Roberts!  Get Lebeau up here! He's leaving!"

Logan smirked and stuck his cigar in his mouth, then grabbed a few more from the box before he followed the warden. It wasn't easy to come by a good Cuban cigar, after all, and the warden didn't need them.

Smoking was bad for _him_.

 

~*~

 

Remy glanced at the quickly retreating view of the warden in the side mirror and then looked at Logan. "Remy be grateful dat y' come so far t' get him out dat place, Logan."

Logan glanced at Remy and then looked back at where the truck was going, turning back onto the chert rock road and slowing down a bit. "Who hit you?"

Remy flushed, looking down at his hands and picking at the dirt under his nails. "Dat don' matter. Remy shot off his stupid mout' an' got it hit. He know bettah an' got what were comin' to him."

Logan snorted. "You shouldn't have been hit at all, kid. Not unless you hit someone else first."

Remy shrugged. "Don' matter anyway."

"It does," Logan said firmly, but he decided to let it slide. "Why'd you run?"

Remy looked out the window at the passing trees. "Remy don' fit in at de school. He don' know half de stuff he s'posed to for de classes, an' he cain' catch up." He shrugged again. "Might as well stop wastin' ever'body time tryin'."

Logan stepped on the brakes and the truck halted in a flurry of gravel as Remy looked at him in surprise. "So let me get this straight… You ran away an' hitched over a thousand miles because your _homework's_ too hard?"

Remy flushed, scowling. "Remy left because he don' know dat stuff an' he cain' learn it. It be stupid t' keep tryin'."

"Why can't you learn it?" Logan asked reasonably, turning more in his seat to watch the kid. "If you study—"

"Remy study all night," Remy interrupted him, red-faced and still scowling. "It don' do him no good. Remy still get de answers wrong on de test, an' de whole class make fun of de grade. Nobody got a fifteen b'fore Remy de idiot manage t' be doin' it. It be a new record, an' be de las' straw for Remy."

Logan blinked, frowning. "A fifteen? How in hell did that happen, kid?  You're _not_ that stupid."

Remy bristled. "Remy _know_ he's not stupid, monsieur. An' if he knew how he done it, den he might could fix it, but he done tried an' he jus' cain' do it. He read de books over an' over an' he does de work, an' den de test come an' he fail ever' time."

"Huh," Logan said, frowning thoughtfully. "Did you try talking it over with the professor?"

Remy snorted and looked at the road ahead of the idling truck. "Remy not need de professor t' tell him dat he's failin' all his classes. De professor will be kickin' him out soon anyway, might as well go."

Logan snorted. "The professor isn't going to kick you out, kid. Not if you try, an' it sounds like you've been doin' that." He took his foot off the brake and started the truck forward again, driving fairly slow just in case the beaver he saw earlier had friends. "We'll have a talk with him when we get back. Chuck'll know what to do."

Remy looked over at Logan and then back out the side window, muttering, "Remy won' hol' his breath."

Logan's lips twitched as he glanced at the kid, then looked back at the road. The kid sounded a lot like him a few years ago, before he learned to trust that Charles would have the answers whenever he got in over his head. It had been hard for Logan to learn to trust anyone, and he was sure it'd take the kid a while, too. He had a feeling Remy hadn't had many people he could count on.

 

~*~

 

"That'll be twenty-one fifty," the girl behind the counter said, smiling cheerfully as she tucked a box of donuts into a bag and then pushed it towards him.

Logan took a twenty and a five out of his wallet and offered it to the girl with a grin that made his blue eyes sparkle. "Keep the change, darlin'." She'd gone to the trouble to make him a fresh pot of double-strong coffee, so he figured she had earned a tip.

The girl blinked and then beamed at him. "Thanks!"

Logan grinned at her, putting his wallet away. "No, thank you." He winked, grabbing his thermos and the two bags of food he'd gotten and then heading for the door.

Remy was waiting in the truck just outside, obviously nervous and avoiding looking at anyone that passed by, and it made Logan hate the human race a little. The kid seemed afraid to even _glance_ at anyone, and that just wasn't right as far as Logan was concerned. Even in backwoods Alabama, Logan figured the kid had a right to be curious and look around. He was only seventeen and he hadn't seen a whole lot of the world yet.

Logan opened the driver's side door of his truck, looking over at Remy as he offered him the bags. "Here kid, you handle the food while I drive."

"Oui, of course." Remy took the bags quickly and then Logan handed him the thermos and climbed into the truck, firing up the engine.

Logan looked over at the kid and his lips twitched in amusement at the way Remy's nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of the fresh donuts in one of the bags.  "Wrong bag, kid. There's sausage, egg, and cheese biscuits in the other bag, an' some O.J. for you. We both need real food, I figure. The donuts are for dessert."

Remy looked over at him. "De donuts smell awful good. Y' sure we cain' do it de udder way 'round?"

Logan snickered and checked his mirrors, putting his truck into reverse. "Yep. The donuts'll be good all day, but biscuits are never as good once they get cold."

Remy sighed and switched bags, putting the bag of donuts in the seat between them where he could keep them from falling in the floor. "Got a point, Remy got to admit."  He opened the other bag and then looked up quickly, surprised. On top of the box of biscuits were two pairs of sunglasses and a four-deck pack of playing cards.

Logan stopped the truck and grinned crookedly at Remy while he waited for a break in traffic so they could leave the parking lot. "Figured you need 'em, and those were as close as they had to what you usually get. You can put the extras in the glove box for next time."

Remy stared a moment longer and then murmured, "Merci. Remy really 'preciate dis, Logan."

Logan reached over and ruffled Remy's shaggy hair, grinning, and then the light finally changed and he eased the truck out onto the road, turning north. "Don't worry about it, Cajun." He changed lanes to pull the truck in behind a tractor-trailer with Pennsylvania plates and then glanced over at Remy again, adding, "Now how about some breakfast?"

Remy blinked and laughed, nodding. "Soun' like a plan." He opened the glove box to put the cards and the sunglasses in there until after breakfast, setting his orange juice in there too, then opened the box of biscuits. They were individually wrapped and looked all the same to him, but before he started taking them out he figured he should ask, looking at Logan. "Dey all de same?"

"Nope. Four just sausage, an' four sausage, egg, and cheese. Wasn't sure you'd want the eggs, I noticed you don't eat 'em much at the mansion."

"Remy eat either one, he not min'. Which ones d' you want?"

Logan glanced over, smiling. "I'll eat anything that don't try to eat me first, kid, an' some things that do. Pick what ya want and I'll take care of the others."

Remy chuckled. "De sausage for me, den." He took one of the biscuits out of the box, opening the wrapper and then offering it to Logan as soon as he saw the fried egg on it. "Dat one yours, mon ami."

Logan snickered at Remy's tone, taking the biscuit as he teased, "You really hate eggs, don't ya?"

Remy opened a biscuit from the other side of the box and then looked up, grinning because he'd rightly guessed the other side would be plain sausage. "Remy like eggs fine, jus' not by demselves. Dey taste lots bettah when y' put 'em in a cake."

Logan chuckled, amused. "Gotta agree with ya there." He glanced over at Remy again, grinning as he added, "There's some packets of jelly in the bottom of the other bag if you want it, under the donuts. They had grape and peach."

Remy brightened, grinning. "Merci!" He immediately dug into the other bag and Logan chuckled as he looked back at the road, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Logan had noticed that Remy always put jelly on his biscuits, even with sausage, so he'd made sure he asked for some. Remy didn't often ask for any 'extras' like jelly for a biscuit, but the kid had a sweet tooth that just would not quit and he was always quick to indulge it if he was offered something sugary. Getting a few packets of jelly was little enough to do when it made the kid's minute and got him acting his age, at least for a few minutes.

Remy squeezed half of one of the little packets of grape jelly on his biscuit and then looked up at Logan again. "Y' want some?"

Logan glanced at him, chuckling slightly when he saw Remy was licking a stray bit of jelly off his thumb. "Nah, I got it for you."

Remy blinked, surprised, and then he smiled, kind of shy and sweet. "Merci beaucoup."

"Anytime, kid," Logan replied, looking back at the road. It wasn't fair how pretty the kid was when he smiled like that, but it was even more unfair how surprised the kid still was by a little kindness.

 

~*~

 

Remy was just about bored out of his skull within an hour of getting on the highway, but Logan seemed perfectly happy to drive on in silence, heading vaguely north as they followed the loop around Birmingham. Remy was just beginning to think a nap might be a good idea when Logan turned onto an off ramp, and the sign he saw a moment later made him blink.

 _US-78 West, next four exits. Tupelo, 135 miles. Memphis, 231 miles._

Remy looked over at Logan quickly, asking, "Remy not be de best at geography, he know, but ain' New York nort' _east_ of Birmin'ham?"

Logan glanced over, smirking a bit as he rolled his unlit cigar to one side of his mouth. "Yep." He reached for his thermos and started to unscrew the cap, holding the steering wheel steady by pressing his thigh up against it.

Remy stared at Logan a moment, then asked, "Well den, don' you t'ink headin' _west_ migh' not be de bes' way t' get dere?"

Logan held his cigar in one hand while he took a drink of the coffee, then put the cigar back in his mouth and passed the thermos to Remy. "Shut that, will ya?" He gave Remy the thermos and the lid, glancing to be sure he was closing it, then added, "An' we're headin' west 'cause that's where Memphis is."

Remy looked surprised as he tucked the thermos back into the seat between them. "Why we headin' to Memphis, if y' don' min' Remy askin'?"

"Don't mind a bit, kid," Logan said, smirking as he turned onto the ramp that would take them up onto 78 West. "We're headin' to Memphis 'cause it's May, an' there's no way in hell I'm gonna be three hours away the day before the best barbecue in the world an' not make a detour. It ain't like the professor needs us back in a hurry. You said yourself that you're failin' all your classes, an' all I do is the make work Chuck comes up with so I won't get bored an’ take off. Ain't no reason we can't take our time headin' back."

Remy thought about that a moment and then said slowly, "So, what?  We goin' to a barbecue?"

"Not just any barbecue, kid. _The_ barbecue. Memphis in May is the World Championship, and the biggest barbecue competition in the world." Logan glanced at Remy, smirking. "An' if I remember right, you like a barbecued hunk of pig near as well as I do."

Remy let out a surprised little laugh. "Well, yeah, Remy do at dat. He never had barbecue he din' like, 'cept for de time Rogue try to do dat Caribbean whatever it were."

"Caribbean jerk, at least accordin' to that cookbook she bought," Logan said, snickering. "That was nasty, but it wasn't barbecue."

Remy laughed. "An' de food in Memphis gonna be worth drivin' hours out de way?"

"Oh hell yeah," Logan said, grinning. "Like I said, kid, it's the world championship. Teams from all over the place'll be in Memphis makin' their best competition pork barbecue for the judges, an' sellin' all kinds of barbecued meat to the spectators." He glanced at Remy, still grinning. "Which'll include us."

"What de hell," Remy said, grinning. "Barbecue soun' good t' me."

Logan grinned. "Tomorrow. Today we'll be havin' lunch at a little diner I know of in Tupelo, an' then we'll head on up to Memphis." He looked over at Remy again, adding, "Maybe use that fake ID I had t' take from you to get you into a club with me tonight. The blues clubs in Memphis oughta have some great bands playin’, this bein' the day before the big bash."

Remy looked surprised and pleased. "Y' kept it?"

Logan nodded, amused. "Never know when that kind of thing might come in handy, kid. Just 'cause I wouldn't let you keep it doesn't mean I'm gonna burn it like Scott would. One o' him walkin' around with a broomstick about three feet up his ass is enough."

Remy snickered. "He do act dat way some time, don' he?"

Logan snorted, grinning. "Try all the time, kid. Scott's got enough prim an' proper for the whole damn school. He's likely havin' a party 'cause I'm out of his hair."

"Den dere's no reason to hurry back," Remy said, starting to warm up to the idea of taking their time getting back to the school. "Remy never been t' Memphis, or much of anywhere else, now dat he t'ink on it."

"We'll start with Memphis an' see what we're in the mood for from there," Logan said, pleased. "The professor won't mind, he knows I hate bein' cooped up anywhere more than a few hours at a time. I might've driven near straight through to go get you, but that was 'cause there was no tellin' what trouble you were in or how they was treatin' you. On the way back, we ain't gonna be drivin' eighteen hours a day. Life's too short to travel like that when we don't got a reason to."

"We?" Remy asked, eyes widening.

Logan looked over at Remy, grinning a bit. "We. I've got that fake driver's license in my wallet, ain't no reason not to teach you how to use it. You’re old enough."

Remy blinked and then gave him that surprised, shy smile of his that Logan so seldom saw but liked more than he likely should. "Dat'd be real nice, mon ami. Merci."

"Eh, you don't have to thank me, kid." Logan smirked, looking ahead at the road again. "If I get you drivin', then you can take a shift over here bein' bored an' I can read a book or somethin'."

"We gonna have to stop an' get some books, den," Remy said, still smiling.

Logan grinned at Remy. "I could stand to get out an' walk some anyway. Memphis'll have some decent used book stores if Tupelo doesn't."

Remy grinned. "Soun' like fun t' Remy."

"Good then," Logan said, nodding. "So that's the plan." He glanced at Remy, still grinning, then back at the road as he added, "Why don't you try to find us somethin' on the radio, Cajun? We got a lot of miles to cover yet, an' music always makes 'em go faster."

"Sure," Remy said, smiling as he leaned towards the radio in the dash, one of the only things in the truck that wasn't old and worn. "What Remy lookin' for, mon ami?"

"Somethin' with a decent beat, kid," Logan replied. "And no rap or none of that crap Jubilee listens to."

Remy laughed, turning on the radio and starting to scan the stations. "Remy be thinkin' dat leaves country or mebbe classic rock."

"Rock," Logan said firmly, amused. "I'm not in the mood for cryin' in my beer."

Remy snickered. "Den rock it be." The radio’s seek function paused on three stations that he skipped in quick succession as soon as he heard the distinctive over-produced sound of the alternative rock music Jubilee loved, all screaming electric guitars with little lyrical content to redeem it.

The next station had only played for a moment when Logan said quickly, "That'll work."

Remy glanced at Logan with a grin, turning up the familiar song several notches and sitting back as he teased, " _Sweet Home Alabama_ , eh?"

Logan smirked. "Gotta admit it's fitting for drivin' through the kudzu jungle, kid." He leaned to turn it up a little more and then settled back to drive with one hand, the other tapping out the beat on his thigh.

Remy grinned a little wider and settled back to enjoy the ride, and if Logan started singing along not long after, well, Remy wasn't going to tell anyone.

 

 

 

~ End


End file.
